


perfectionist complex

by byakuyasama



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, M/M, lots of angst probably, tw for mental illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byakuyasama/pseuds/byakuyasama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no use in denying that Oikawa Tooru was stunning; his chestnut hair falling delicately in his eyes, just barely covering the dark orbs whose corners crinkled when he smiled, something he seemed to do often but rarely with authenticity. Though he was entranced by his prince-like appearance, Hajime had difficulty suppressing the feeling of irritation, as if this man knew just how beautiful and impressive he was.</p>
<p>In which Iwaizumi is an intern struggling with IED and Oikawa is his therapist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	perfectionist complex

**Author's Note:**

> plsss tell me if u want me to continue this bc its very draining and ill probably drop it if no one wants to read

For some reason, it had never before occurred to Hajime that maybe he had a problem. Only with his fist an inch deep in the wall, shattered remnants of plaster crumbling around the bloodied skin of his knuckle, did he contemplate the reality of an anger disorder. 

He’d always known his temper was explosive, set off by things that would only so much as irk any neurotypical, but he’d never before grasped the gravity of the situation. It’d be a lie to say he’d never entertained the idea, the plausibility of an overactive limbic system occupying his thoughts often, but he’d always taken the warning signs with a grain of salt. After all, the only time he had voiced any concerns pertaining to his mental state, his mother silenced him, insisting it was only hormones. Hajime was fifteen then and her words weren’t entirely impractical, but ten years later, at age twenty five, puberty no longer seemed to work as a justifiable explanation.

In retrospect, Hajime should’ve seen it coming from a mile away, but the push from his parents to be successful had always been stronger than his own introspection. Being the only child left him with mountains of responsibility, especially as his parents aged and began to grow dependent on him for support through their retirement. Wanting the best for his caretakers, Hajime had remained willfully ignorant to his symptoms, playing off the countless nights filled with dread and worry as college stress. It wasn’t until this moment that he realized discounting his mental health might be to his own disadvantage.

*

“Iwaizumi Hajime? Dr. Tooru is ready to see you, just step right this way,” the secretary said suddenly, a somewhat condescending smile tugging at her unnaturally colored lips as she led Hajime into a small room down the corridor, her unnecessarily high heels clicking an irritating rhythm that echoed in the empty hallway.

Much to his own surprise above anyone else's, Hajime was seeing a therapist. His recent outburst was enough to have his parents send him in for a professional diagnosis and though they denied it, Hajime could tell they viewed his circumstance as an unfortunate burden. His mother had done thorough research, adamant on locating nothing but the best fit for her son, something only achieved after a long two weeks of searching.

His name was Oikawa Tooru and he was a prodigy.

At the age of twenty five, he’d already completed eight years of medical school; a Phd in psychotherapy and a minor in neuroscience as well as earning several distinguished awards, ranking in the top ten percent of graduated psychologists in the past five years. Hajime found his accomplishments belittling, feeling an astronomical amount of insignificance when at the same age, he had barely managed to to keep up with his business major. It was nearly enough for him to look into another doctor, but his mother insisted that a therapist the same age might be exactly what he needed, arguing that Dr. Tooru would be more empathetic to his situation.

With much reluctance, Hajime found himself perched on lounge chair, his back stiff and shoulders raised, unable to recline in such foreign circumstances. A few feet from him sat a brunet, scribbling away quickly on a notepad, delicate paintings decorating the walls and a small vase containing lilacs resided in the corner of the room. He had to admit, nearly everything was exactly as it had been in movies, that is, with the exception of the his doctor.

There was no use in denying that Oikawa Tooru was stunning; his chestnut hair falling delicately in his eyes, just barely covering the dark orbs whose corners crinkled when he smiled, something he seemed to do often but rarely with authenticity. Though he was entranced by his prince-like appearance, Hajime had difficulty suppressing the feeling of irritation, as if this man knew just how beautiful and impressive he was. Tooru looked up at him, placing the notepad to the side after he’d finished scanning the situation analysis and offered Hajime a very obviously fabricated grin, sticking his hand out.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he brunet cooed, shaking his hand softly before pulling away, “I rarely get male patients, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Hajime bit out gruffly, his eyes darting to the side, finding it difficult to make contact, “...I know.”

If Oikawa was at all phased by Hajime’s unwelcoming demeanor, he masked it well behind another smile, tilting his head to the side and leaning back. His soft brown eyes flickered over a notepad, rereading Hajime’s profile quickly before placing the statement to the side. Oikawa’s ability to quickly handle and process information was slightly nerve wracking, only adding to the unsettlement slowly creeping it’s way up Hajime’s spine. His undoubtable grace continued to enforce Hajime’s uneasiness, as he was never spectacularly comfortable around extremely attractive individuals, both male and female.

“So, Iwaizumi, why are you here?” the brunet hummed, his voice delicate and laced with something between pity and empathy. The question irked Iwaizumi, his eyebrow twitching as he turned to face his therapist; Tooru knew exactly why he was here, and Hajime saw no reason to reiterate the situation.

“...My parents suspect I have an anger disorder.” He began, restating his circumstances as calmly as he possibly could, “I probably do, I guess. I recently got excused from my internship because I suck at controlling my anger. The executive made some backhanded comment about my work ethic and..”

Hajime trailed off, seeing no reason to continue unless he wanted to relive the waves of regret and embarrassment that enveloped him each time he delved into the horrors of his outbursts, but Oikawa didn’t seem eager to accept an incomplete story. The brunet looked at Hajime expectantly, clearly waiting for the rest of an anecdote that Hajime didn’t intend on finishing. His snarky expression was nearly enough to make Hajime get up and leave right then.

“...And I defended myself.” he continued begrudgingly, “But I guess it could’ve used without calling him an asshole.” Hajime exhaled, running his fingers through his hair impatiently, his face practically heating up in embarrassment, “I lost control in the moment and punched the wall. End of story.”

Oikawa was practically grinning, as if something about Hajime’s embarrassment was terrifically amusing and it only irritated Hajime further. ‘There’s no fuckign way this guy’s a professional’ was all he could manage to think, trying to ease his temper, closing his eyes and thinking of anything other than the irritatingly attractive male sitting only a few feet away from him.

“It seems to me like these must be recurring situations.” Oikawa started after a second’s hesitation, eyes lighting up as he began to formulate the beginnings of a diagnosis, “Can you delve into how you feel when experiencing these episodes? Not just mentally, but physically.”

Something about Oikawa’s tone was lighthearted and airy, as he practically chirped each word in a carefree manner. It befuddled Iwaizumi, who was clueless as to why Oikawa would handle his patients with such a childish attitude. He supposed it was simply part of the brunet’s overall appeal, but the practically flirty nature of his evaluation was nearly repulsive. Hajime fell to the conclusion that his disposition must somehow be linked to the fact that an overwhelming majority of his patients were female and tried his best to shrug it off.

“Sometimes my chest feels tight, and there’s a terrible pressure building in my head.” Hajime started slowly, his mind quickly processing the physical attributes to his outbreak, “I don’t know. I don’t pay attention, it’s just in the moment.”

Oikawa nodded along with every word he spoke, as if assuring Hajime he was paying every ounce of attention to his story. He sat upright, a wide grin across his face, though this one seemed slightly more genuine than the ones he had offered previously. Iwaizumi scoffed a little, his stomach churning, developing the sense that Oikawa was fabricating an analysis in his mind. The silence between them was long and undesirable, an extremely uncomfortable Hajime squirming in his seat like a nervous child.

“Say, Iwaizumi..” Oikawa finally started, crushing the deafening silence, “If you’re uncomfortable this just won’t work, don’t you think?”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow but remained silent, unsure of exactly what the brunet was implying. Of course he’d be uncomfortable, he wasn’t here by choice but by necessity. The dark haired man remained seated, not moving as Oikawa approached him, handing him a small slip of paper.

“My number.” the doctor explained in response to Iwaizumi’s confused expression, “I’d much rather be thought of as Iwaizumi’s friend than his doctor, and it definitely doesn’t seem like you’re going to be willing to open up if we continue like this. Call me and we can get to know each other.”

And with that, an awfully bewildered Iwaizumi was dismissed from his office, paper in hand. Hajime gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply, white rage blinding his other emotions. ‘It’s certainly stupid’ was the first thought that flooded his mind, followed quickly by a small, ‘but very reasonable.’ The idea of being friends with the some prodigious therapist was laughable, yet something inside Hajime so tiny it could be deemed insignificant begged to differ.


End file.
